


Fragile: Handle With Care

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Universe, Drinking to Cope, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluffy Ending, Gabe Has a Crush on Sam, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: The man was facing away from him, dark brown hair, with a tan and slightly dirty trench coat that stopped about mid-calf. Dean couldn't see his hands; they were either in his pockets or holding a weapon, and that just made Dean all the more suspicious. He adjusted his aim, pointing the barrel directly at the back of the man's head - if he even was a man - and sucked in a quick breath.





	1. Stranger In A Trench Coat

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic around a couple years ago. I saw the photo, and alas... a plot bunny was born. It's been sitting in my Google docs for aaaaages, but I finally decided to give it to y'all. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed staring at the picture for hours on end. 
> 
> Comments and kudos always welcome! 
> 
> Photo Credit: @mfluder_42 (brilliant, Monica!)

**FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE**

**By**

**WickedNerdAngel**

  


***

 

Dean's head felt like lead and concrete at the business end of a jackhammer as he cracked one heavy-lidded eye open and glared at the - _way too goddamn bright_ \- screen of his phone. The night hadn't ended until he'd seen the bottom of the _Hunter's Helper_ bottle now lying haphazardly on its side, teetering dangerously off his night stand. Fighting with Sammy was par for the course after a hunt gone bad, and his little brother apparently hadn't shared the same enthusiasm for killing evil bastards as he did. He was tired of this shit, if he was being honest, but it seemed the only person... err _thing_... that understood him these days, the only ‘friend’ he had was in the form of brown glass and amber liquid.

It took him a moment to realize the pounding he was hearing wasn't actually in his head, but was, in fact, coming from the double-layered steel door of the bunker. How the hell he was hearing that all the way down here was beyond him. Must've been someone with iron fists.

It continued - much to Dean's utter fucking annoyance - without stopping until he finally decided to see who had enough balls to wake the sleeping bear. He pushed himself off the mattress, sleepy muscles suddenly awake and, _yeah_ , aching like a motherfucker, and got himself into a sitting position. The room only spun for about ten seconds, so that was a plus. Not so much a plus when said room chose to teeter on its axis like a relentlessly spinning top as he stood.

**Bang Bang Bang**

The pounding continued as Dean heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his nearly matted hair. "Whad’ya have, a goddamn battering ram? Hang _on_ , I'm coming!" He half-yelled, knowing the asshat at the door would definitely not hear him.

Throwing on his robe, tying it in annoyance, shoving his feet into his "old man slippers" as Sam so affectionately referred to them, he flung open his bedroom door with all the grace of The Hulk, grumbling the entire way down the hall.

"Sam!" he shouted. "Sammy!" His calls were unanswered, only adding to his hangover and frustration. He decided to forego the usual privacy code of knocking on his brother's door as he approached it, instead flinging it open so hard it hit the wall adjacent. "Wake up, assho--" His words fell flat as he noticed Sam's bed, immaculately made with no Sam in sight. He sighed again.

As he turned to stomp out of his dick-of-a-brother's room, who was probably off for a run or a kale cleanse, _he gagged at the thought,_ a realization hit him. He slammed his palm against his forehead, which - _Ow_ , not a good idea - steadied himself on the concrete wall, and padded back into his room to grab his glock. "Whoever the fuck you are," he muttered, checking the magazine and slamming it back into the gun, "you better be hot or I swear to god, you'll be eating the end of this."

Passing through the kitchen, still grumbling and wishing he had the energy to make coffee... and find an IV bag, preferably, he caught a piece of paper out of the corner of his eye with Sam's distinct scribbly handwriting on it. He paused for a moment to read it and rolled his eyes, _which also hurt like a son if a bitch, might he add_ , because of _course_ he was running at ass o'clock.

Of course he was.

The pounding on the door came yet again, and if he hadn't already known the bunker door was bulletproof, he'd have taken pleasure in emptying the glock into it. _Still might, just for satisfaction purposes_. "Hang the fuck on!" He yelled as he took his sweet time ascending the stairs and aiming the silver barrel squarely at the door. "Patience is a goddamn virtue, don't you know that?" He could've sworn he heard movement after his slight tantrum, and his trigger finger itched as his left hand reached for the door handle. "Who is it?" he growled, hand touching the cool knob finally.

No sound. No movement. And, in Dean Winchester’s world, suspicious as all hell. He clicked the lock and silently counted to three, gun aimed head-high, finger hovering over the trigger as he flung open the door.

He saw nothing at first, his eyes adjusting to the glow of the morning sun, but out of a haze, the figure of a man appeared suddenly and about ten feet in front of him.

The man was facing away from him, dark brown hair, with a tan and slightly dirty trench coat that stopped about mid-calf. Dean couldn't see his hands; they were either in his pockets or holding a weapon, and that just made Dean all the more suspicious. He adjusted his aim, pointing the barrel directly at the back of the man's head - if he even was a man - and sucked in a quick breath.

"Hey!" He spoke authoritatively, easing toward him, one slipper-clad foot in front of the other. The man didn't answer, didn't turn around, only bowed his head. Dean tilted his own. _Why would he do that,_ he found himself pondering before snapping out of it and putting himself at arm's length of the stranger.

"I said _hey_!" he all but shouted this time. Still no answer, but the man lifted his head. He pulled his hand out of his pockets - Dean was right the first time - and looked as if he was about to turn around, but Dean didn't give him that chance. He fisted the sleeve of the man's coat, ignoring the sudden shock of familiarity, and pulled... hard. To his surprise, the man spun easily to face him. Dean's eyes darted from his head to his feet and back again, taking inventory of the navy suit underneath the coat, crumpled white shirt and sloppy blue tie before finally resting on his face. The man's brow was furrowed in what appeared to be confusion, nose almost scrunched to match the perplexed expression but still perfectly angled and proportionate to the rest of his features. His plump lips were opened slightly but chapped, probably from the cold weather, and Dean licked his own, wondering in his heart of hearts just why he took so long to look at them.

"Dean" the man whispered, almost inaudible, and Dean's eyes snapped finally to the man's.

Blue.

That's all Dean could see was _blue. Cobalt, sapphire, azurite, agate..._ he started running through all the blue stones he knew of off the top of his head, but none of them, _none_ of them could come close to what he saw in front of him. Like looking at the ocean from space, bright and swirling, and then diving into it, dark, midnight and deep. He felt overwhelmed suddenly, anxious, afraid (though he'd never admit that last one to a single soul) but also like he wanted to reach out, climb inside the warmth those eyes were emitting.

_Why the fuck was he feeling this way?_ Better yet, _what_ was he dealing with to feel this way? Dean Winchester was a goddamn stone. He didn't waver in the face of - insert monster name here - and he especially didn't falter in the face of some tax accountant-looking schmuck. But the familiarity was killing him. Why, _why_ was this, this _man_ so damn familiar to him?

He tightened his hand around the barrel of the gun, raising his left hand to wrap around his right, and flexed his arms, attempting intimidation. Too bad the asshole couldn't see his muscles through the sleeves of the robe. No matter. Dean made up for that by stepping one foot forward, menacing, his stance rigid, and a scowl taking residency on his hardened face.

“Who are you?” he growled, finger once again hovering over the trigger.

“Dean, it's me,” _Blue Eyes_ said. The pain on the man's face was almost palpable. His eyes suddenly glossed over with what Dean honestly couldn't fathom were unshed tears. He was taken aback momentarily, the gun lowering a fraction before he recovered.

“No. I don't know you.” He blinked slowly, clearing his throat of what oddly felt like a lump forming. _What the fuck?_ “Now I'll ask one more time. Who. The _hell_ . Are you?” He punctuated the last question with the powerful metal weapon in his hands. The man suddenly looked resigned, like he was a seconds away from giving up on something. He sighed, shifting his eyes to the ground and back up at Dean. _Sadness, despair,_ Dean thought. But why?

“I'm Castiel. Dean, just listen to me.” He took a step toward Dean and began to reach out his arms. Alarmed, Dean jerked the gun toward him, nearly crouching as if ready to attack. Well, he was after all.

“Don't fucking move! How do you know my name? Why are you here, at my _home?_ And what kind of a goddamn name is _Castiel_ ?” _And while I'm at it, now would be a stellar time to show up, Sammy._ His eyes suddenly caught something on the lapel of the man - Castiel's - coat that he hadn't seen before. Probably because it was close to the same color as the ratty coat. It looked like...was that...he squinted, straining his green eyes to see it, darting from it, back to the eerily familiar blues. Was that a-a gift label? _The fuck?_ And in neat - scratch that - _perfect_ handwriting, it said:

**Please look after this angel.**

**Thank you.**

“Dean, please,” the... _Castiel_ pleaded, hands raised slightly, eyeing the gun. “You just don't remember me right now.” He sighed, moving his hands to grip his hips, and looked off to the side. “Damn it, Rowena.”

Dean's hackles went up instantly. The witch? Again, what the _hell?_

“What about Rowena? How do you know that evil bitch? What does she have to do with this? And what the _fuck_ is that?” He waved the gun barrel toward the ridiculous gift tag thing.

Castiel, the man with the impossible blue eyes, plump lips and nice, _very nice_ , he noted, hair almost chuckled. Almost. Instead, he sighed again, as if he was losing patience. _Yeah, same here, pal._ “Dean, if you'd just let me…” He reached a hand toward Dean's face. “I need to show you--”

Dean jumped backward a step, pressing the gun toward Castiel, the tip brushing against his coat. He gritted his teeth, jaw muscles visibly working overtime, and flared his nostrils. He wasn't about to let some weirdo, tagged as a goddamn angel no less, touch him. “Are you _insane_ ?” he spat. “I will shoot you, you idiot.” Castiel tossed his hands out, slapping them against his sides, clearly exasperated, and Dean fumed. The audacity of this guy, really. “Now answer my goddamn questions, without touching me!” He glanced at the stupid tag again. “Why does that say _angel_ ?” He couldn't help the snort that escaped him. “And what about Rowena? _Talk!”_ Dean could've sworn he saw Castiel roll his eyes slightly, and his finger itched to squeeze the trigger just on principle. But he refrained because when those blue eyes met his again, he saw it. Pain. Almost anguish. Dean swallowed hard.

“Rowena cast a spell on you, Dean.” He pressed his lips together before continuing, “And Sam. She was working with Amara - The Darkness - to banish all angels, to lock them away, and she knew…” His voice caught, as if the words hurt too much to get out, and Dean's grip on the gun faltered. _Amara._ He knew that name all too well. The goddamn Darkness. She'd fallen off the radar recently. No poor soulless bastards making carved Thanksgiving turkeys out of their families and friends. Dean had been going stir crazy trying to figure out what she was up to, but the leads had all gone cold. Hell, he didn't even remember the last time he'd seen her. “They both knew,” Castiel continued, his voice straining, blue gone dark and almost swimming in animosity, “how you felt about me. And they knew you'd never stop fighting… for me.”

“ _What_?” Dean's voice sounded hoarse all of a sudden, foreign. “How I feel about… but I don't even know you, how--”

“But you _do_ know me,” Castiel said, his voice softening at the end. He stepped forward, the gun pressing further into the fabric of his coat, but he showed no fear. Dean stared at him quizzically. “You know me, Dean. And so does Sam. And I _know_ you.” He licked his lips quickly, only seeming to need the wetness, but something twisted, fluttered in Dean's gut. He didn't fucking like it one bit, this feeling of somehow being emotionally vulnerable. _Feelings._ Something Dean still hadn't mastered in thirty-seven years. “Amara enlisted Rowena to cast a spell on you that would wipe your and Sam's memories of me completely.” He looked off to the side, a painful expression again, and clenched his own jaw. “And then Amara threw me and every other angel she could find into Purgatory.”

Dean dropped the gun to his side and took several steps backward, grabbing a fistful of his hair and blinking rapidly. _“What?_ Purgatory? You have to be fucking kidding me. We chalked that up to a monster fairy tale after Crowley’s fuck up, and me and Sam couldn't find it. And how do you even know all this?”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them again, Dean was shocked by the hurt filled glare, and the man's trembling lips as he said, “No, of course… you wouldn't remember that.” Dean narrowed his eyes at him, but before he could ask just what the hell he didn't ‘remember,’ Castiel was speaking again. “You asked about my name, my odd name. It's an angelic name. And the reason I know all this, Dean, is because I'm an angel.” He pointed at the gift tag, almost as if he was trying to make a joke, his mouth ghosting a smile, but failing miserably.

Dean swiped his hand down the length of his tired face and scratched the stubble on his jaw. “An angel,” he stated sarcastically. “Really?” He lifted the gun again to point it at this _whatever_ he thought he was. “Because it sounds to me like you've been talking to people you shouldn't, getting dirt on me and my brother just to, I don't know what… fuck with me? Let me tell you something real about me, _pal._ I don't like to be fucked with and I most certainly don't allow my brother to be fucked with. So you have about four seconds to come clean before I empty this pretty, shiny silver chamber into your chest! Now _who_ , or _what_ are you really?” The anger was taking hold, causing Dean's hand to shake. The thing that usually happened right before the calm set in, the shaking stopped, and he pulled the goddamn trigger.

“Dean, I'm Castiel. And I'm an angel… of the lord… or, maybe not so much of the lord anymore, but I _am_ an angel.” Castiel rambled slightly, and Dean felt the strangest sensation stirring in his chest, like he wanted to laugh and hug the guy at the same time that he wanted to strangle him. It was goddamn confusing to say the least.

_“Great!”_ Dean shouted, sounding a hairsbreadth away from maniacal. “Because I've met a few angels, and they're all dicks. Every single one of them… dicks! Guess that makes you someone I don't wanna know.”

“I'm not a dick,” Castiel said, almost petulantly.

“But you are an angel, right? Not that I believe you,” Dean countered.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then how are you not a dick exactly? Angel… Dick. Pretty simple, Cas.” Dean realized immediately what he'd said, he just didn't know why the nickname came so fluidly out of his mouth. He did notice, however, Castiel's eyes flash when Dean said it. Though he didn't comment on it, something had changed.

Castiel raised his chin, a little more confident than he'd been. “Because I'm your friend. I'm… your angel, Dean.”

Dean blinked slowly, thinking about that for a split second. _My angel? What?_ “Then prove it,” he challenged. “Or I shoot your ass and go sleep off the rest of my hangover.”

“Your bullets won't hurt me, Dean.”

Dean grit his teeth. “Right, because you're an angel.”

“Yes.”

“ _My_ angel.”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Prove it.”

“Prove that I am an angel, or that I am yours?”

Dean's stomach twisted with an emotion he didn't understand, but he stifled it and grinned ruefully at this _really weird fucking guy._ “Let's just start with the angel thing, shall we?”

He no sooner had the words out of his mouth when the wind picked up, thunder clapped and lightning struck right in front of him. But it wasn't lightning at all, it was Castiel. Blue eyes glowing neon, white light radiated out of him like a nuclear bomb and… wings. _Holy shit._ He'd met some of these bastards before, but he’d never actually _seen_ the wings. They were just shadows, really, ethereal imprints of what were once immense, majestic things. At least ten feet long on either side, the ‘feathers’ appeared tattered, scant, and damn near broken. That feeling twisted in Dean's gut again and he couldn't help the strangled sound that escaped him. He shielded his eyes once the light began to burn them, and stumbled backward, tripping on some gravel and falling right on his ass. His robe splayed open embarrassingly, showing off his bare legs and oddly enough, blue boxer briefs. _Fuck._

Castiel was in front of him instantly, kneeling, hands placed gently on Dean's shoulders, squeezing, holding him in place. “ _Dean!_ Are you alright? I'm sorry. You told me to--”

“I'm fine,” Dean hissed, pulling his robe closed as much as possible to save some goddamn dignity. He wanted to be angry, but Castiel's face was right _there_ and his eyes were wrought with another emotion Dean wasn't familiar with. The intensity in them made his mouth run dry. He'd felt something, as Castiel touched him, even through the thick fabric of the robe, he felt it. An unprecedented power, perhaps, something else that made his insides twist and his head swim. He knew then. He knew Castiel was an angel; that this was no hocus pocus shit. He didn't need any more proof of that, but he did want to know... _now_ he wanted to know what made Castiel _his_ angel.

Castiel removed his hands, but remained kneeling, eye-to-eye with Dean, studying him, assessing, Dean decided. Dean cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice sounded weak, strained.

“I want… I want you to show me.” Castiel squinted, tilting his head to the side slightly, and Dean felt the overwhelming urge to laugh. He did laugh, but just barely, and cleared his throat again to cover. _Christ, get a hold of yourself, Winchester._ “You said you were my friend, my angel, that I knew you. Show me.”

Castiel's features smoothed and he smiled, something akin to hope, if angels hoped for anything other than the apocalypse and using people for heavenly condoms. “I'm... I will have to touch you,” he said softly, reaching two fingers toward Dean's forehead.

Dean held his hand up. “Yeah, yeah just don't _A Beautiful Mind_ me, alright. I've had you douchebags do that to me before. It's not fun.”

Castiel smiled, looking at Dean as if he was a frightened child. “I promise, Dean.”

When Castiel's fingers contacted Dean's flesh, his eyes closed instantly. Bright white flashed in his mind, quickly filling his entire head and rendering him paralyzed before images began speeding through his mind like watching an old silent movie on a Nascar track.

A barn. Lights exploding around a walking figure in a trench coat.

Castiel, Angel of the Lord. A hand shoving a knife, Ruby's knife, into his chest. Dean's hand. Bobby, lying unconscious.

A beautiful room, white with gold trim. Dean frantically trying to reach Sam. Blood. Castiel's blood. His hand painting a sigil on the wall to save Dean from Zachariah. Castiel's eyes wide and scared.

He rebelled. He rebelled against Heaven, against his family, for Dean.

Castiel bloody in an abandoned factory. His skin broken and fragile from the thousands of purgatory souls. “I'm sorry, Dean. ”

A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched black goo ooze out of Cas’ every orifice. His coat cold and drenched and folded neatly in Dean's trembling hands as he clung to it.

Sam's broken head. Cas’ responsibility for it.

Emanuel. Dean's heart breaking in two, realizing his angel didn't remember him.

Cas taking Sam's crazy on himself.

Bees and monkeys and ham sandwiches.

Purgatory. Losing him again. Heartbreak, despair, torturing monster after monster to find “the angel.”

Cas. Dirty and afraid and keeping the Leviathan away from Dean.

Cas. Keeping watch over Dean as he slept for the first time in a year.

Cas. His hands gentle in Dean's hair. His lips soft on Dean's temple, his eyelids, his mouth.

Cas. Easing Dean through the first kiss of many. The tugging of clothes, lips turning rough and frantic. Ecstasy.

Losing Cas again. Despair, longing, hallucinations and then he was just… _there_.

Having him back. Loving him. Needing him in every way imaginable.

Naomi.

Cas’ fists connecting to Dean's bones, breaking, then healing. Losing Cas again.

Despair, longing. Gadreel, Metatron, Sam, Kevin.

Needing Cas.

The Mark. Dean's fists connecting with Cas, breaking him, nearly killing him. Wanting so much to stop. Just stop. Losing Cas again.

The Darkness, Rowena. Cas, Dean and Sam running toward them. An incantation. A blinding pain in his head. Losing Cas again, then nothing. And now…

Dean's eyes snapped open; his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged at the information he'd just received, the _memories._ “Cas?” His bleary eyes tried to focus on the face in front of him, blinking rapidly. “Cas,” he breathed. _“Cas!”_

“Dean, I'm right here. _Dean_ , look at me. I'm right here.” Cas’ steady voice grounded him, calmed him, and his breaths evened. Dean focused on him finally, eyes bluer than blue, hopeful, swimming in tears. His hands gently cupping Dean's jaw, strong fingers holding his head steady. “I'm here.”

Dean hadn't noticed his own hands until now, fisted tightly in the white dress shirt, clinging to him. He eased his hands out of the grip, smoothing the shirt, but kept them firmly placed on Cas' chest. He searched Cas' face as he spoke in a hushed tone, afraid almost, to jinx this reunion. “I… Cas, I remember you. I remember everything.” He inhaled sharply at the still-fresh images of beating his best friend. “I'm so sorry, Cas.”

Cas’ face crumpled at Dean's words, eyes squeezed tightly, and when he opened them again, red-rimmed lids, wetness beneath them. “No, Dean. This wasn't your fault. We both,” he sighed, and this time it made Dean's heart stutter and ache, “made mistakes, but this… this was _not_ your fault. You have to understand that.” Cas stood up, bringing Dean up with him effortlessly, and Dean fell into him. He wrapped his arms around his angel tighter than he ever had before, tighter than Purgatory, and he held onto him. Cas’ arms immediately circled Dean's waist, pulling him in impossibly closer. It wasn't close enough.

“I think I missed you,” Dean said with a pointed laugh, envisioning all the empty whiskey bottles he'd written off as results of bad hunts.

Cas turned his head, his lips brushing the shell of Dean's ear, sending a rush of acute sensation throughout Dean's entire body as he whispered, “I _know_ I missed you.” He pressed a soft kiss to the skin just in front of his ear and Dean shivered.

Dean pulled back from the hug to look at Cas. _God,_ he was so fucking beautiful, no wonder Dean had that weird feeling when he looked at him. Even when he didn't think he knew him, Dean knew his _soul_ , or his grace if angels didn't have souls. Though, he'd challenge anyone that tried to say Cas did not. Dean licked his lips, Cas tracking his movements as Dean's eyes shifted to Cas’ and then back. They stared at each other for what felt like a millennia before Dean leaned in and brushed his lips across Cas’.

“I _know_ I missed you too, Cas,” he said as he kissed him like he hadn't seen him in years. Hell, up until today, in his mind, he hadn't even met him. He deepened the kiss, his hands splaying across Cas shoulders, fingers digging into the soft coat. Cas kissed back with fervor, parting Dean's lips with his own and licking into his mouth. Dean couldn't fight the groan that reverberated up through his chest as his grip tightened and he met Cas' tongue with his own. He nipped at Cas’ bottom lip, his tongue gliding over where he'd bitten, and sucked. Cas’ answering moan was enough to make Dean want to forego anything else and head straight for his bed, but his goddamn brain had more questions, so he pulled back breathless, chest heaving. Cas sighed, making a fruitless sound of protest and Dean couldn't help but chuckle.

“ _Fuck,_ did I miss that too, but I have to know. Cas, how did you bust out? Of Purgatory, I mean. How did you get back… to me?”

Cas smiled, a little mischievously if Dean was being honest, and it had him suddenly a little on edge remembering the shit Naomi pulled. “Gabriel,” Cas replied with a slight laugh and a roll of his eyes.

Dean pushed back a little further, eyes wide, suddenly slack-jawed. _Gabriel?_ “Gabriel? Gabriel the archangel, your brother, Gabriel? Tricky little bastard who thinks he's hilarious but really isn't? _That_ Gabriel?”

“That would be the one,” Cas said with a wry grin.

“He's alive?”

“He is indeed.”

“Holy _shit!”_

“Holy shit, indeed.”

“Cas, can you do something besides repeat me? How. The. Hell?”

Cas’ hands, still resting on Dean's sides, gripped a little tighter, his thumbs drawing barely there circles just under the sash of the robe. Dean felt a familiar stirring in his belly, but he filed it away for later… or sooner, hopefully sooner. Right now, his hunter instincts were kicking in and he needed answers. Luckily Cas started talking before he had to go all Guantanamo.

“He was very…” he pursed his lips, “furtive about the details. But apparently, he and a band of angels he'd been training busted me out of Purgatory, along with the other angels sent there alongside me. The _transition_ itself, I barely remember. Dealing with Gabriel after, I remember quite well.

Dean's hackles went up instantly. “What did that asshat do to you? I have a spare angel blade, ya know.”

Cas laughed, and the sound made Dean's  heart thud in his chest. “Nothing like that. He didn't _do_ anything other than tease. Like big brothers always tease their younger ones.” He paused for a moment, his expression turning serious, blue eyes pained again. “I... was debating whether to come find you. I thought,” he sighed heavily. “I thought maybe your life would be better off never having known me. Everything I've put you through, and Sam, I just…” His words trailed off and Dean was struck dumb by what he'd just heard. _How many times was that going to happen today?_

“Cas,” he started, shaking his head.

“I agonized over it for weeks,” he took a deep breath, “well, weeks on earth, days in heaven, until Gabriel cornered me, slapped this ridiculous thing on my coat and said, and I quote, ‘I'm damn tired of watching you pine over that hot piece of monkey meat down there, little bro. Besides that, his giraffe of a brother is much hotter. But if you must choose the Neanderthal of the two, so be it.’ And the next thing I knew, I was standing on your doorstep, while my older brother tried to put dents in your door. He might've left a few.”

Okay, there was no stopping it this time. Dean's mouth fell open in a very pronounced ‘O,’ followed by hysterical laughter, followed by incessant coughing because… yeah, hangover, lungs, liver, all fucked up still. “Well fuck,” he so eloquently exclaimed. “First of all, yeah, that tag has Gabriel written all over it, and secondly, _who knew_ he had the hots for Sammy!” He barked out another laugh but quickly crossed his arms in front of his chest and put on his best Dean Winchester scowl. “I'm honestly not sure if I approve. Sam's a delicate flower, Gabriel's, well, an asshat.”

Cas’ laugh was cut off by Dean pulling him flush against him and wrapping strong arms around his angel. “But then again, he did gift wrap you nice and pretty for me, so…” He leaned in for a kiss, their lips barely touching when, as if on cue, he heard a familiar, albeit alarmed, voice.

“Dean!” He turned to see Sam, looking thoroughly confused and equally gross, dripping with sweat, staring at him, actually no, _eyes bugging out of his head_ at the two of them, particularly the man/angel in his arms. “What the hell is... who is…” He gripped his temples with one oversized hand. “You wanna tell me what's going on, here?”

Dean held up his hand, pissed that he had to pull himself away from Cas even for a moment. “Sammy stop talking. This is Cas-Castiel.” He gestured toward the angel in question in an introductory way. “He's an angel. He's gonna touch your forehead and then we won't have to have this conversation. Cas?”

Dean didn't think Sam could look any more confused, but he was wrong. _“What?”_ Sam blurted, but before he could verbalize any protests, Cas had his fingers on his forehead and it was over in three seconds flat.

“Oh my _God,”_ Sam's voice wavered, “We-we know him. He-he’s Cas, and-and there was Rowena, and The Darkness, and... _holy shit!”_ Sam stumbled a little under the weight of his new found, or old found, depending on how you looked at it, knowledge, and Dean and Cas sprung into action, grabbing his elbows to steady him.

“Whoa, hey hey. No giant people get to pass out today. Let's get you inside and sit you down before I even think of telling you about the massive crush Gabriel has on you.”

_“What?!”_

_“Dean!”_

Sam and Cas spoke at the same time and all Dean could do was laugh, big and hearty and silently thank that little punk bastard, Gabriel, for bringing back _his angel._

***

(Continued on Chapter 2)


	2. The Hunter And His Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm going… to kill…” he murmured between wet kisses, working his way up to the skin just behind Cas’ ear. “Rowena… and Amara…” He felt a surge of energy that settled deep in his belly when Cas shivered at Dean's breath against his ear. “For doing this… to us.”

 

They spent the day eating pizza and popcorn, watching classic horror movies and laughing at the pure idiocy of some of those monsters, then raising suspicious eyebrows at some of the shit that was spot on. They teased Sam until he was tomato red about Gabriel, well Dean teased him, Cas mainly shook his head and gave Dean the angelic equivalent of the stink eye a few times.

When the sun finally set and they'd had their share of made-up horror, they began to strategize about the  _ real  _ shit. Nobody’d heard from Amara or Rowena since the spell to wipe the Winchesters’ memories, and they all knew that meant something big was cooking. Cas had barely just been sprung from Shawshank so he knew very little, but he did say that even Crowley and the demons were preparing for “a dropped-the-soap situation like no other in the history of dropped soap,” Crowley's words apparently, or it could've been Gabriel's. Yeah, definitely Gabriel's. So, they needed to prepare for…  _ something? _ Problem was, they had no goddamn clue given the fact that Thelma and Louise were currently off the radar.

They went over scenario after scenario, Dean finally cracking open some Kingdom Beer, even though the smell made his stomach recoil slightly from the hangover that didn’t seem to want to let up today. Still, he was getting a raging headache, and beer was beer, after all. He really just wanted to take their slogan to a whole other level and get “a taste” of his own heaven.

When Sam finally, drunkenly announced that he was “jumping ship and landing in his bed,” (he thought that was a funny joke. It was not.) Dean realized conditions were so perfectly right, that he might actually  _ get _ that taste he was craving. As soon as he heard the slamming of Sam's bedroom door, he pulled Cas out of his chair and into a deep, passionate kiss that scorched him from the inside out. He pulled away, noting that the situation in his pants was already getting out of control, and smirked at the angel’s punch drunk expression before leading him -  _ alright, more or less dragging him - _ into Dean's own room.

Once inside, Dean kicked the door closed and spun on his heel, pressing Cas against the mahogany wood and planting his mouth firmly on the bolt of the angel's jaw. Dean's name was said on Cas’ harsh sigh, and it excited him further. “I'm going… to kill…” he murmured between wet kisses, working his way up to the skin just behind Cas’ ear. “Rowena… and Amara…” He felt a surge of energy that settled deep in his belly when Cas shivered at Dean's breath against his ear. “For doing this… to us.” Dean licked and sucked his way back down Cas’ jawline, pausing at his chin before pulling the stubble-covered skin between his teeth and dragging his lips up to meet his angel's. Cas gripped Dean's hips, almost painfully tight, and pulled their bodies flush together.  _ “Fuck,”  _ Dean hissed as he felt Cas’ growing erection press against his own, his cock twitching with the need for friction in response.

“Then I'll kill them with you,” Cas spoke in a hushed tone against Dean's mouth then licked, angling his head to delve his tongue between Dean's lips. The moan that escaped Dean as their tongues met, circled and slid against one another was embarrassing to say the least, but Cas didn't seem deterred by it. He pressed against Dean impossibly more, Dean’s hips pistoning of their own accord because…  _ Jesus Christ, his angel had a talented tongue.  _ He needed them to move before he mortifyingly came in his goddamn jeans. He needed them to be horizontal, sans clothes; he needed Cas’ hands and mouth, those plump lips all over him. He  _ needed  _ to stop thinking about all of this and take action before that thing about coming in his pants came true.

“ _ Fuck,  _ that feels so good, Cas,” Dean groaned as Cas took his turn suckling along Dean's jaw and the cords of his neck. “I need…” He turned his head to the side in order to give Cas more access, his eyes barely able to focus, and as he opened them, they landed directly on three (who knew how old) beer bottles in his sink.

Well,  _ shit. _

Horrible timing, but he needed to clean up this godforsaken room. He mentally kicked his own ass. He finally had his precious angel back, granted he'd only actually known about that for the last few hours, but  _ still _ , he wasn't going to do this with him in a disgusting room. Contrary to popular belief, he had standards. He pulled back, much to Cas’ discontent if his pleading whimper meant anything, But Dean just flashed him his famous grin and ordered him not to move a muscle as he pushed away from him, moving around the room as quickly as he could with the crotch of his jeans uncomfortably tight, and picked up bottle after bottle of beer, whiskey, even tequila.

As he tossed them in the trash bin close to his bed, he heard Cas clear his throat. “I hope,” he began slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, “this wasn't all from one night.”

Dean huffed through his nose and dropped his chin to his chest, thinking. “Nah, this is uh, a build-up I guess you could say. Um, how-how long did you say we were apart?”

Cas tilted his head slightly, eyes squinting in that way they did that made Dean smile. “I was in Purgatory approximately three months.”

“Three months too long,” Dean muttered under his breath before lifting his gaze back to Cas. “I guess… I guess I was just having a hard time and didn't know why. It's happened before.”

Cas’ face fell instantly. “Dean,” he started, “I'm so sorry.”

“No,” Dean countered, turning and walking straight back to him slowly. “Not on you. Not your fault, Cas. And we aren't doing this.” He swiped his hand in finality. “Not tonight.” He grabbed his angel's hands and tugged him away from the door. “C’mere.” He walked backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sat, arms circling Cas’ waist, pulling him close. He pressed his face into the thin material of Cas’ white dress shirt and placed open-mouth kisses all along his stomach. Cas’ arms wrapped around Dean's shoulders, his fingertips running down and up his back before sliding up into his hair and scratching light, unknown designs. Dean didn't have words for how fucking good that felt. He only sighed and kneaded his own fingers into Cas’ back.

“Dean.” His angel's voice was gruff and barely audible. “I won't let them separate us again.”

Dean stopped his movements and sighed heavily through Cas’ shirt. “I don't wanna talk about that, Cas. I-I don't even wanna  _ think _ about…” he trailed off, practicing what he was preaching and not thinking of it, but he felt strong hands cup around his jaw and lift until green met blue.

“I promise you, Dean.”

Dean didn't answer; he couldn't. All he could do was stare into those liquid blues. All he could muster was a nod and a slow blink and his thoughts spun, his lips trembled.  _ How could he promise that when he couldn't stop it from happening before?  _ Nevertheless, he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to  _ talk _ about it. All he wanted was Cas, in every way imaginable, and he wanted that now.

He nudged Cas back a little, just enough for him to stand, and crashed his lips to the angel's in front of him. Cas’ hands flew to the back of Dean's head, fingers kneading into his short hairs. A deep, guttural moan made its way past Dean's lips and he broke away, chest heaving, heart hammering in his chest. His hands shook as he made quick work of the buttons on Cas’ shirt, fisting his hands halfway through and laughing humorlessly.

“I'm sorry,” he offered, though not sure why. “I've done this…  _ we've  _ done this before, I know. I have the memories now. It just, it feels like the first time again.”

Castiel,  _ his Cas _ , looked at him with so much love, it nearly made Dean's knees buckle under the weight of it, and he took his hands. He unfolded Dean's fists and lifted each one, pressing kisses into the palms of Dean's hands. Dean's eyes fluttered closed. He was overwhelmed. In all honesty he wanted to cry. This was almost too fucking much.  _ How did he deserve even a fraction of Cas’ love?  _

“I've got this, Dean,” he said, dropping his hands and quickly finishing the unbuttoning of his shirt, dropping it to the floor behind him. Dean's eyes tracked over Cas' tanned skin, the Enochian tattoo etched over his left hip, and he bent down, pressing his lips into the flesh of Cas' chest. He dipped further to capture a nipple in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and sliding his tongue where his teeth had been. Cas arched into him, moaning something in a language he didn't understand, and gripped the hem of Dean's Led Zeppelin t-shirt, pulling up until Dean moved enough for the material to effortlessly slide off of him.

No sooner was Dean’s shirt removed that Cas’ hands were everywhere: fingers kneading into the flesh of his back, dipping down just under the waistband of his jeans, teasing, pulling out again to brush down over his denim clad ass, digging his nails in, sliding around to the front, teasing at the waistband band there and the buttons on his fly. All the while teeth were tugging at lips, and tongues were pressing together, swirling and sucking, Dean's hand planted in Cas’ hair, tangling, pulling him closer to delve deeper into his mouth. It wasn't enough. Cas popped open the first button on Dean's fly and crept behind the band of his boxer briefs, dipping down and ghosting over the already weeping head of Dean's cock. Dean bucked into it, the friction of the movement alone sending a shockwave through him. He couldn't help it and he couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Dean dropped to his knees, grasping at the belt around Cas’ pants and pulling at it almost frantically. He pulled the fly open with force, the button skittering across the concrete floor, zipper ruined as he tore the pants down Castiel's legs. His angel didn't have time to protest the utter demise of his dress pants before Dean was mouthing at the head of his cock, which was impressively tenting Cas’ boxers.

_ "Dean!”  _ Cas’ hands flew to the longer hair at the top of Dean's head and gripped tightly, almost painfully, and it felt fucking amazing. Dean moaned around his mouthful of cotton-sheathed cock, and ripped the boxers down, effectively setting it free. He slid his hands up the backs of Cas’ thighs to his incredibly tight ass and pulled him closer, drinking in his heady scent and dipping his head to lick from base to tip. A string of inexplicable sounds escaped Cas’ lips, the only thing Dean understanding was his own name being every other word. He determined it to be Enochian expletives, and  _ goddamn _ if that didn't fuel him all the more. He gripped the shaft of Cas’ dick with his right hand, still kneading his ass with his left, licked the precome off the head before sucking it between his lips.

Dean listened as Cas’ breaths came out rough and sharp, felt his knees buckle slightly and his hips jerk forward, but his grip only tightened. He continued to work his lips, hollowing his cheeks and flattening his tongue against the sensitive vein just on the underside of the head. Cas cried out, but Dean couldn't continue because the next thing he knew, he was being gripped under his arms and pulled vertical, only to be lifted,  _ actually fucking lifted, _ and shoved onto his back on the bed. Cas ripped open Dean's button fly, pulling his jeans and briefs off in one fluid motion, Dean's own cock bobbing with its newfound freedom as his angel hovered over him.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Cas’ chest heaved with his words, his punched-out breaths fanning over Dean's face. Dean just grinned slyly, cocking an eyebrow, his own breath rushing out of him, but he found the strength to grasp Castiel's arms and flip them over, smiling victoriously as he now hovered over Cas' perfect body.

“You know better than anyone, Cas,” Dean licked his lips as he stared down at him, “I can't live without you.” He lowered himself to lick at Cas' smiling mouth. His angel's lips parting, inviting Dean's tongue inside. “So no,” he said, breaking the kiss, “not trying to kill my angel.”

Cas’ face nearly split in two at that. “Good,” he said, “Gabriel would be pissed after all the work he did.”

_ “Ew,”  _ Dean mock-gagged. “Can we  _ not  _ talk about brothers right now?”

“Sorry,” Cas replied, grinning as he reached up to grip the base of Dean's neck and pull him down for another searing kiss.

“Although I guess he did package you up all pretty for me and basically marked you as fragile. Guess I should handle you with care.” Dean smirked.

Cas raised one eyebrow. Dean felt himself harden even more at the sight, and at the same time, Cas reached between them, wrapping his hand around Dean's aching cock and giving it a couple pumps before wiping away the precome with his thumb.

Dean couldn't hold his own weight anymore. He dropped onto Castiel, skin on skin, and bucked shamelessly into his hand. Cas moaned at the contact, sucking Dean's top lip into his mouth and sliding his thumb across Dean's lower lip. Dean promptly sucked it between his lips as Cas removed his hand from it's grip on Dean's cock, only to slide around, grasping onto Dean's ass cheek, pressing them even closer together. The feel of their erections rubbing together, the delicious friction it created had Dean's toes curling and stars bursting behind his eyelids.  

_ “Jesus Christ, Cas, fuck!”  _ He groaned, thrusting harder, forehead falling against Cas’ neck.

“Just Cas,” his angel said between breaths. “Jesus was a…” he pulled Dean's head up to kiss him heartily. “... whiney little bitch. I'm offended.” He laughed into Dean's mouth.

_ This fucking angel.  _ “Oh my Go--” he started to exclaim, but stopped himself. “See now there's nothing I can say that doesn't sound fucked up.” He barked out a laugh before nipping on Cas’ earlobe and whispering, “Thanks for making it weird, my fragile little angel.”

“I'll show you fragile,” Castiel growled, wrapping his legs around Dean and moving so quickly that the only thing Dean registered was suddenly being on his back, and it had been less than one second.  _ Fuck, he was so turned on by that. _ He swallowed, his throat running dry at the thought of Cas showing him, and so he said it. He begged for it.

“Show me, Cas. Please.”

His angel dove into him. Starting with Dean's temples, he kissed everywhere: his forehead,his eyelids, his nose, pausing at his mouth to kiss him long and slow as his hips undulated against Dean's, sending sparks of pleasure firing down his legs and out through his fingertips, Dean's arms wrapped tightly around his back and up over his shoulders. He kissed and sucked down Dean's neck to his chest, where he gave precise attention to each of his nipples, biting, then soothing the burn with his tongue. Dean pressed his head into the mattress, arching into Cas' skilful mouth and groaning embarrassingly with every pass of his tongue. Dean's breathing grew ragged as Cas moved further down, his stomach sliding rhythmically against Dean's rigid erection was making the hunter’s eyes roll into the back of his head, the wetness seeping out of his cock smearing all over his belly. Cas slid down further to reach Dean's navel, plunging his tongue inside. Dean surged his hips forward, losing control.

“Cas, Cas... _ Cas, _ ” Dean chanted, pulling on his shoulders, grasping at his hair to get him face to face again. “I need you.”  Cas obliged, his tongue gliding up the length of Dean's torso, throat and chin before crushing Dean's lips with his own. “Cas… I want you to…” he gasped between kisses, “I.. I need you to…” He couldn't get the words out, but he was so close to the edge that a few more thrusts and - beyond a shadow of a doubt - he was going to come. But he wanted more.  _ So help him _ , he wanted more. Finally he grabbed Cas’ hand, pushed it under him and to the cleft of his ass. Cas immediately gripped and kneaded, but Dean shook his head and pushed further until Cas’ fingers met puckered skin, and mumbled an expletive at the contact. Cas stopped moving completely to stare at Dean with a furrowed brow.

“Dean, you want me to…” he pressed a flattened finger to the area in question and gave it a little pressure. Dean's breath hitched and he nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to…” he allowed that finger to penetrate the hole just barely, and Dean arched his back, pleasure wrecking him.

_ “Yes, fuck!” _

Castiel licked his lips, his eyes growing dark, midnight blue. “Dean, you have to tell me exactly what you want.”

Dean heaved a sigh, swallowing his pride of not being a bitch down and looked his angel square in the eyes. “I want you inside me, Cas. Please.”

“With my finger?” He had to hand it to Cas. He did look genuinely concerned. Why wouldn't he? He was  _ Cas. _

“No, Cas. Not with your finger.” He felt Cas' cock twitch against his leg when he said it. Not helping matters, seeing as though Cas had his finger essentially in Dean's ass, and he was already on the verge of explosion.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yes, fuck. Will you?” Because he had to make sure Cas was okay with this too.

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation, already moving himself back.

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, chest heaving even more now in anticipation. “I have… stuff in

there.” He waved toward his nightstand. “Don't care about a condom, just... the other stuff.” 

Cas knew where the item in question was. He remembered explicitly in fact, but he didn’t say anything about it. Making his hunter comfortable was more important than reminding him that his memories had been stolen from him. Instead, he moved quickly, finding the lube and sitting it next to him, bending Dean's legs until his feet were flat on the mattress, and then leaning down to place a soft kiss on the inside of Dean's thighs. Dean sighed in response. Cas’ kisses descended, over the mounds of Dean's ass until Dean could feel his breath where his finger had been. Cas pressed his palms on each side and spread Dean's cheeks, his tongue licked from Dean's hole to his perineum, and Dean fisted the sheets tightly.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he hissed, Cas’ tongue moving back to his hole and pushing into it.  _ “Cas,”  _ Dean growled, “you need to hurry, man. I'm not gonna last.”

Cas was generous with the lube, and his fingers were nimble and gentle as he worked one, two and finally three into him. He stretched and fucked Dean with those fingers until the hunter was a quivering mess on the mattress. Dean felt the loss when Cas’ fingers vacated, but just as soon, Cas was hovering over him, pushing his knees up a little further. And lining himself up against Dean.

“Ready?” he asked, eyes filled with a mixture of concern, love, and want. Dean reached up to press his palm gently to Cas’ cheek, running his fingers through his angel's hair before nodding.

He kept nodding as Cas pushed into him painstakingly slow, past the initial burn and further until he was flush against him and there was nothing but heat and pleasure. Cas moved precisely at first, grazing the spot Dean knew would be his undoing, Dean alternating between fisting the mattress and touching Cas in as many places he could reach until suddenly the sparks of sensation became a raging inferno and Dean was gasping for air.

_ “Cas… Cas, please,”  _ he begged. For what, he didn't know.

“Dean..  _ D-Dean,”  _ Cas stuttered, his movements faltering, his thrusts becoming erratic and Dean knew they were equally close.

He gripped Cas’ face, pulling him down attacking his lips with teeth and tongue because  _ breathing be damned _ . He just needed to feel all of him. Cas gasped into his mouth, the angle having changed, allowing him to thrust deeper. He hooked his arms under Dean's knees and pulled them up further, this angle making Dean's vision nearly go black. He arched his back, neck straining, jaw clenched. He grabbed for Cas’ hands, weaving their fingers together and squeezing as he produced noises he didn't even know he was capable of. Cas let go of one of his hands and pushed it between them.

“Touch yourself,” he said breathlessly, “I'm… I'm gonna…”

Dean allowed the backside of his fingers to brush lightly through Cas’ soft hairs and ghost up over the muscles of his abdomen, eliciting a strangled whimper and a jerk of Cas hips before he gripped his own hard, dripping cock. He began to pump his fist, twisting at the head as Cas fucked harder and faster into him. His pace increased, Cas’ thrusts erratic as the burning heat coiled inside him rushing through his body like a lit fuse, gathering and tightening in the base of his cock. It only took one more pump and one more thrust as Cas’ cock tapped his prostate, for him to unravel.

_ “Cas!”  _ he cried out, coiled heat finally snapping, vision blown, fingers curling desperately into the mattress as he came, spilling onto his stomach, white and hot, his body seizing.  

Cas wasn't far behind. Two more thrusts and he was desperately sobbing Dean's name, spilling into him. His eyes, that had been screwed shut were now glowing... neon blue as Dean felt him pulse one last time inside him. He should've been freaked out by that, by his boyfriend's - _ were we going there now?  _ \- eyes lit up like LEDs. Any normal person would be, but Dean certainly wasn't a normal person, and his  _ boyfriend's  _ eyes were fucking hot.

Cas collapsed onto him, spent, but Dean could feel him smiling against his shoulder. Dean rolled them over gently, because  _ cock still in ass _ , and cringed as Cas slowly pulled out of him. “Sorry,” his angel said, chagrined.

“S’okay,” Dean replied, smiling lazily, blinking slowly and watching fascinated as Cas’ eyes faded back to normal bluer than blue. He remembered this was his least favorite part, jizz basically oozing out of his ass, but he was gonna shut right up about that shit because it didn't matter. What mattered was who he was holding right now. “So, uh, what was up with the laser eyes? I don't remember that.”

Cas’ cheeks flooded pink and he looked away momentarily before shifting his gaze back to Dean. “Well it happens right after I… And you’ve never seen it because I always kept my eyes closed until I knew it dissipated.”

Dean shifted to hold his weight on his elbow, tracing a finger lightly down the side of Cas’ face. “Why would you hide it from me?”

Cas shrugged. He looked so child-like just then, so innocent. “I dunno. I guess I thought it would--”

“Freak me out.”

“Yes. I believe I did think I would  _ freak you out _ ,” he air-quoted.

Dean didn't answer, only smiled at how both of their ridiculous minds worked. “So, you're telling me it's like an angelic afterglow?” Dean's smile widened at his obvious cleverness.

Cas returned his smile with an amused eye roll. “I suppose you could call it that, yes.”

Dean nodded, victorious. But then another thought struck him. One that was a little on the disturbing side if he was being honest. “What about, ya know… “ he very maturely pointed at his ass. “You didn't, I mean, that's not... you didn't put any grace in me or anything, did you?”

Cas furrowed his brow in confusion before realizing what Dean meant and throwing his head back to laugh earnestly. “No, Dean. But if you'd rather refer to my semen as grace, you're more than welcome to.”

“You're making fun of me.” Dean tried to sound petulant, but the sound of Cas’ laughter was too beautiful in his ears.

“I am not.”

“You are. Castiel, angel of the Lord, is cracking jokes.”

“Come on, Dean. That one was too easy and you know it.” Cas’ voice was still full of mirth.

“Okay, yeah... fine, you ass.” Dean rolled his eyes and smiled, leaning in to kiss the lips he couldn't get enough of. “Cas?” Dean broke the kiss, but rested his forehead against Cas’, not wanting to break contact.

“Yes, Dean? What is it?” Castiel could sense the sudden anxiety in Dean's voice.

Dean knew that _ Cas _ knew what he was most terrified of.

“I know I said I didn't wanna talk about it, and I still don't, really, but could you tell me again what you told me before? Ya know, about me not losing you again.”

Cas reached his hand up, brushing it over Dean's hair and down the side of his face, resting it just above his jaw. “Dean Winchester, I love you more than you will ever fathom. I know that wasn't part of your question, but I wanted you to hear me say it. And I know you can't say it back, and that's okay. You don't need to.”

Dean swallowed thickly. His tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. Nobody wished he was less emotionally fucking constipated than he did himself. “But I do, though… that... with you.”

“I know.” Cas smiled. “And I promise you that I will never let anyone or anything separate us again. I promise you, Dean.”

“Never again?” Dean whispered, his voice too tight to speak.

“Never again,” Cas whispered back, pulling his hunter into his arms, the shadow of his broken wings enveloping them both. “Never again.”

***

~ **The End~**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3 <3 <3


End file.
